Description
Book SynopsisThe Sahara. Breathtaking, beautiful, frightening, funny. Sheppard records the tension of his 16th visit to Algeria's vast wilderness. Maps confiscated at an early stage, he stuck to his plan - which turned out to be off-tracks between points of habitation for 700 miles. Told with wry humour, a passion for the desert and achingly beautiful pictures.
Trade Review0 `Tom Sheppard, doyen of the desert.’ ... Michael Palin… .; 0 `... filled with humour, drama and beauty, ... Very much a tale of adventure – all the better for being true. ... understated and lyrically descriptive, using words like the tip of a watercolour brush to outline natural beauty, but pulling no punches ... . It is also a superb primer for the nuts and bolts of “serious” expedition 4x4 use – when to lock diffs, when to deflate tyres (which type, and by how much), what to pack and how to pack it, campcraft, navigation, photography – the list goes on. .. Thought-provoking, inspiring, illustrated with wonderful photographs that achingly evoke the colours, freedom and spacious grandeur of the Sahara. ... Absorbing, uplifting, recommended reading.’ LRO Magazine. ; 0 'Inspiring .. ', '..a wonderful job of capturing the magic..' , 'photographs achingly evoke the .. spacious grandeur of the Sahara' , '..pulling no punches.', ' also a superb primer for .. serious 4x4 expeditions..', '..told tongue-in-cheek with great attention to technical detail ..', '..a magnificent production .. stunning images’.. ; 0 `... Mr Sheppard's writing style is engaging and practical, with a turn of phrase that ... draws you into the narrative in a thousand intangible ways beyond the words and pictures themselves. ... , as if it's told only this once, just for you.
`.. His description of getting stuck in soft sand just before twilight and all that it entails is just immaculate writing.’ DG, `Pointed Three’ forum, USA.
Table of ContentsJacket flap. `There were eight of us. We had vehicles. We had supplies. We had water. But over the dune the little Mauritanian boy, no more than six years old, walked carefully towards our camp, concentrating hard on not spilling his precious gift – a bowl of camel’s milk. Even as I write, all these years later, I am moved to tears ... ’ Chapter 7. `I stopped the wagon well short so as not to alarm the animal and so the man could see who I was. He stopped too, threw a leg over the pommel of the saddle, slipped down from the huge beast and we walked towards each other to shake hands. The man was but a boy, probably no more than 17, smooth skin on the part of his face I could see behind the dark head cloth, a fine fuzz of hair on his upper lip. He led his camel by a thin rope attached to a ring in its right nostril. The pair seemed to be one, almost inert, each totally calm, totally at one with their environment. I don't know if the boy had met skinny white men in odd vehicles like this before, wearing shorts, their pale uncovered legs looking curiously out of place. Straight-faced, he didn't seem to know what to do. I think he was shy. ... I made the actions of pulling on a well rope and pointed to the camel. At last the young man smiled a broad understanding smile. It was wonderfully worth the wait.’ Chapter 8. `At last after another mile or so, the implacable barrier of hills ahead, Wadi 'N' revealed the little wadi to the south, the right turn at the bend by a rounded hill. I checked the GPS that had faithfully recorded the weaving path this far and showed in enlarged figures the bearing and distance to the wadi's entry point, now only a mile and a half off. I raised my eyes from the GPS to look ahead between the narrow walls of the entry wadi and couldn't believe what I saw.’
